Grace to be Saved
by AlmostAngel.333
Summary: Hermione hated temptation. She was rarely faced with it. But after she saved him-while she saved him-she found that he tempted her more than anone else. So why couldn't she still hate him?


**G r a c e t o b e S a v e d//Chapter One**

I came across him, that day. The day I followed Harry.

(**Small fact**: She never meant to care.)

Not that I make a habit of following my friends. No, but I was curious. I had a gut feeling that something important was going to happen, some reason I should be there. The fact that I was loathe to stay alone with Ron had nothing to do with it.

Whatever the reason, I stood up from my place at the Gryffindor table, cast a woeful glance at Ron, and hurried after the black haired boy that had just hurtled past. I pushed through the door to the Great hall just as it swung back in place. Now, which way did he go? I brushed my bushy hair out of my eyes, and listened carefully. There...footsteps to my right. I ran, wishing I knew why he'd suddenly sprinted out of dinner, and why I was running after him. I do_ not_ like running. I finally caught sight of Harry, just as he disappeared into the boy's lavatory.

_Oh...._I suddenly felt incredibly thick. I felt the blush creep up my cheeks, and was terribly glad that there was no one around to witness my humiliation. So much for my gut feeling. I turned quickly on my heels, and started walking away briskly. But I stopped abruptly when I heard Harry yell.

"...I know what you did! You cursed her, didn't you?"

A loud crash followed. And then a shattering. My first instinct was to burst into the room and help Harry. But just as my hand touched the door, something made me hesitate. Another crash.....then silence. It was much too quiet. I stayed in the same position, one hand on the door, one on my wand, unsure of whether or not to make a heroic appearance. A set of hurried footsteps made up my mind quickly; I dove behind a pillar just as Harry rushed out, very pale. He was extremely upset, I could tell, but something kept me from going to him. Maybe it was his expression; maybe it was my gut again.

He looked about him, barely missing me as I pressed up against the wall. Then he ran his hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his, and rushed down the corridor. Once he disappeared around the corner, I came out of my hiding place_. Why on earth is Harry acting so strangely? What_- I gasped suddenly, breaking off from my thoughts. Whoever Harry'd been fighting had yet to leave the room. Why? There was no noise....they could be hurt.

This time I followed my instinct when it told me to go inside of the lavatory. I went slowly, cautiously, a sick feeling settling in my stomach. I pushed open the door, pausing as I stuck my head and shoulders around the door. I saw nothing down the long row of stalls. Glass was all over the floor, and a steady stream of water came from a toilet, which seemed to be in shards. The mirror, which had once taken up most of a wall, was now on the floor, in pieces. I couldn't see past the half wall, which blocked my view of the sinks. I slipped into the room. shutting the door softly behind me. I was considering leaving, but a weak moan emitted from the sinks. It was low, desperate, and whoever'd made it was in immense pain. The sick feeling grew. I walked forward cautiously, one step at a time, craning my neck. First I saw a black shoe. Next came a long, black trousered leg. And then I was around the corner, and my heart stopped. A horrified, frightened gasp escaped my mouth, unbidden.

Draco Malfoy lay in a puddle of water. But that's not what horrified me. Because, though he was in a puddle of water, all I saw was the puddle of blood. His starch white shirt was stained red. His normally pale skin was so white, he seemed transparent, and his glacier eyes were hidden by long lashes, brushing his high cheek bones. His floppy, white blond hair was plastered to his forehead, both from water and sweat. My heart fell to my stomach, and my stomach made its way to my throat. I couldn't tell if he was breathing. No one that strong--for I am not afraid to admit that Draco was a strong, strong man--was made to be that helpless. I hated it. For some reason, tears sprung to my eyes.

(**Confusion**; definition: not understanding; not knowing why one feels the way one does.)

But then I sprung into action. I hurried to his side, dropping on my knees, ignoring the pain that shot through them. I racked by memory for spells to help me. First thing, clear his breathing. "_Anapneo!" _His chest began heaving. I sighed in relief, relief that didn't last for a single second.

Second thing: stop the bleeding. I bit my lip. _What was that spell.....what...oh!_

"_Rennervate! Rennervate, rennervate_," I muttered over and over. The repetition made the spell stronger. I watched as the blood flowed back into Draco, then I assumed the skin healed itself. There. That was probably the worst. My heart was stuttering rapidly in my chest. But why was he still breathing shallowly....? I hesitantly touched his shirt, feeling for any broken bone. He hissed in pain when I reached half way down is stomach. I grimaced. A broken rib, maybe two. I could fix that_....oh, hell_. The realization suddenly hit me that to fix that, I'd need to...remove his shirt. I gulped, biting my lip again, although I'm not sure just how much it had to do with fright this time.

I reached down, my hands shaking as I tried to undo first his tie, then the buttons to his once starch shirt. First button. Second button. Third button. Damn. Fourth. Fifth. Half way through.

And then I was done. I felt guilty, extremely so, as I was faced with his granite torso. His shirt fluttered down on each side of his torso, and I do swear that I thought I'd have to use _anapneo _on myself. I'd always skirted around the subject with the other gossiping girls, but then, there, on the cold tile floor in an inch of water, kneeling by an unconscious man, there was absolutely no denying that Malfoy was indeed breathtaking. I gulped again. Damn hormones.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. He needed my concentration right now. I ignored the taunting side of my brain that mocked me, thinking '_But he had your utter and _complete _concentration a moment ago, Ms. Granger. While you were ogling him? Remember?' _

I growled, wishing that that side of my brain would so kindly just shut up for a minute. I pointed my wand at the place where the broken ribs were located, forcing myself to ignore the smooth muscle covering them.

"_Episky!" _A sickening crack, resulting in a cry of pain from the beautiful blond man in front of me, and then it was healed. I sat back on my heels, breathing hard. I'd been so nervous, so worried I might mess up. But I did it. I found myself eyeing Draco's face, then found my gaze wandering down to his torso. I wondered how it would feel, if it was as hard as it looked. My hand, of its own accord, made its way toward him, stopping above the contours of his abdomen, hovering. I glanced at his face again, eyes still closed. Then my hand, and I don't know how, ran its way slowly down, from his well defined chest to his abdomen. A shuddering sigh left my lips; his chest was just as granite as it looked. His lean muscles were rock hard, toned from years of playing Quidditch. Then back up; my hand stopped on his heart. His skin was warm; I felt the unsteady beat under my hand. So he did have one; I'd always doubted Ron's theory that he was heartless, cruel though he'd been to me.

That's when the thought hit me_. Why on earth did I help Draco Malfoy? By myself, for that matter? Why did I panic, and not just go get a professor? Why did I almost _cry_ when I saw him_? Though I tried to convince myself that I'd been trying to avoid getting Harry into trouble, or that it was just human nature, I knew it was something else. I did not care to dwell on what. Thankfully, I didn't have time to.

My eyes traveled again to Draco's face, and a gasp left my throat. I froze, my mouth agape, my hand still on his heart.

My brown eyes met the big, beautiful blue eyes of Draco Malfoy, staring intently at me, watching me. I realized my mistake as soon as I met his eyes.

(**Quick Note:**Hermione Granger had never quite believed in hypnotization by someones eyes. She did now.)

I was momentarily rendered senseless, speechless, motionless, and found myself unable to look away. When _had _he become attractive?

(**Another Small Fact:** She meant to say beautiful.)

What was it in his eyes that had this effect on me? Perhaps the fact that I couldn't read them. Perhaps the fact that they were such an intriguing color; a blue so icy that they appeared silver. Maybe because they were framed by shaggy, white blond hair that looked extremely soft, that tempted me to run my hands through it. Maybe it was because there was an emotion, dormant in myself, that had yet to be discovered. Again we come across another subject--perhaps they were one and the same--that I didn't want to dwell on. I wanted to hate them--because, like everything else about him, they tempted me--but I couldn't. Even though they were so unreadable, they were, indeed, beautiful. And then, suddenly, after what seemed to be an eternity, it was over. I was released from his gaze.

My cheeks flushed, so much so that I could feel their rosy hue. I snatched my hand away, and my eyes fell to the floor in humiliation.

"Malfoy...." I whispered meekly. My eyes darted up to meet his for a very, very brief moment, before returning to the suddenly extremely interesting tiles on the floor. He said nothing. Silence pounded in my ears, seemed to pound in the air. I wished very much that he'd say something. I knew very well that if he did indeed open his mouth, his words would sting, but at least I knew how to handle that.

"I was.....I just, well....you were bleeding...."

_What the bloody hell? _Since when was I, Hermione Granger, bookworm, know-it-all-extraordinaire, speechless, unable to form a coherent sentence?

"You saved my life."

Not the words I was expecting. If there was any underlying gratitude in his voice, which was slightly raspy, it was very disguised, for his voice was emotionless. As were his eyes. Or, maybe not quite. There was something there.

(**The Truth: **There was indeed underlying emotion. He was wondering; wondering at the girl in front of him, wondering at the feel of her hand trailing along his chest, wondering at the blush on her cheeks, wondering why he was wondering. He was also extremely, eternally grateful. And extremely, eternally wishing he weren't.)

"I...yeah. Yes."

He nodded, a thoughtful look on his Grecian features. He tried to sit, leaning on one elbow, and almost slipped in the water; he hadn't yet gained all of his strength. His muscular arms strained, and then he _did _slip. But he never fell back to the floor. My hands shot out, grabbing his shoulder before he fell. A jolt, like electricity, shot through my hand. I pulled him, gently, into a sitting position, but could not make myself let go, not just yet. He looked at my hand, then at my face, and I pulled back, blushing again. I really needed to stop doing that. I wished I could tell what he was thinking, wished again that he'd say something. One thing was evident; both of us were different people than we'd been. Just to break the silence, I asked,

"What do you remember?"

He studied my face, then replied, slightly angry, though I got the impression not at me, "Potter. He hexed me." He spat out the words, his pink lips forming a sneer. I knew he hated to admit that he'd been beaten. I nodded my head at his information. "What spell?"

"I didn't know it. 'Course, I didn't have much bloody time to register it, did I? It was something...dark. I should know," he answered, his voice bitter, drawling. My eyes darted to his left forearm, then back to his face. I hoped he hadn't noticed. "Guess he felt guilty, huh? Came to get you."

I shook my head slowly. His mercury eyes widened slightly, and he arched his eyebrows. "No? Who, then?"

"No one." I didn't want to say anything more; realization was slowly soaking in. Harry had just...

"He left me? Just left me?"

I automatically jumped to Harry's defense, glaring reproachfully at Malfoy. "And you wouldn't do the same?"

"No!"

I blinked, surprised at the earnesty in his voice. He glared at me, looking insulted.

(**Little Tidbit of Information**: He, too, was surprised by his answer, and by how sure he was of that answer. He also wondered why he wanted so badly to get her approval, to prove himself better than Potter in her eyes.)

"Really?" I was actually surprised by his answer, and felt bad about assuming the worst. My eyes darted down to that shirt sleeve again. I hoped, again, that he hadn't noticed.

He chuckled humorlessly. "I know you thought so, Granger. But they didn't. Wouldn't let them, Snape." I looked at him in confusion. What was he talking about?

"Look for yourself," he said. He reached down and jerked up his shirt sleeve. I braced myself for the Dark Mark. But all I saw was pale, toned skin. I gave a slight, involuntary gasp, and looked up at his eyes in surprise. He nodded, then quietly repeated, "They didn't." There was a sad, relieved note to his voice.

"Oh, Draco," I started, paused as I realised that it was the first time I'd called him by his first name, but then continued, "I'm so glad!"

My words threw me off a bit, for I didn't mean those to be the words out of my mouth, nor did I mean to say them so forcefully. I was just glad I'd resisted throwing my arms around him.

(**The Truth**: She wasn't. Not really. She wanted to feel his strong arms around her.

(**Another Truth: **He wished she would. He also lied to himself.)

I was, indeed, very relieved. Though we'd been enemies, it didn't mean I'd wish that awful fate upon anyone. I even felt a small smile on my face.

There was a silence, not awkward this time, until I broke it.

"Draco,"--I found that I actually quite liked the way it sounded--"do you realise we're sitting in a puddle of water?" I didn't wait for an answer, instead saying,

"_Tergeo!_"

"Much better," I said, appeased. I found a moment to wonder why we weren't being hostile to each other. I thought it strange that I had no_ desire_ to be hostile. He waited a while before speaking.

"What did it do? The spell? And why did you come, if Potter didn't get you?"

I was reluctant to answer, partly because it would make Harry look worse, and partly because I didn't want to relive my fright. "It....it cut you." My reluctance showed in my voice. He stared at me, his ice blue eyes intense, silently urging me to continue. I sighed, giving in.

"It cut you, several times. I'd...I'd followed Harry, because he'd just hurried out off dinner, you know? I had a feeling, that I should follow him. Just, I don't know a...a gut feeling. And when he ran out of the lavatory, I almost left. But I came in. You were...lying there..." I died off, biting my lip, not wanting to relive that. That was what had scared the hell out of me, what almost made me cry. I began fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. I continued, struggling to keep my voice from breaking, for a reason foreign to me. "Draco...you....Draco, you were covered in blood. There was so much of it....it was everywhere." I looked down at my hands, remembering the blood that had covered them after I'd knelt. "And you were unconcious. It didn't look like you were breathing. I thought....I thought you were dead. And then I lost....I panicked...and then I just...fixed you."

(**A Sweet Wish**: He wanted to comfort her, though he wouldn't admit it to even himself.)

"Fixed me..." he murmured, meeting my eye. I thought I saw gratitude. He looked down at his still open shirt, then his smooth stomach--flexing it slightly, so maybe he wasn't all that different, because then he looked pointedly at me and smirked. I refused to meet his eye.

(**An Amusing Little Matter:** When he flexed, a shiver went down her spine.)

"That...shut up."

"I didn't say anything," he retorted, his smirk growing. He had perfect white teeth, and I thought how extremely breath taking he'd be if he smiled. I then mentally slapped myself, and shook my head to clear my thoughts again. I pushed my brown, bushy curls out of my eyes. Yet another silence, then I asked,

"Draco, why? Why were you in here? Why did Harry attack you?"

(**A Very Important Actuality**: He never meant to pour is heart out.)

* * *

**This is my second--actually third, but the first was a lost cause, so forget it--multichapter fic. It's going to be a Dramione, and there might be some out of character things, and some facts may be off, but I do my best, so for the sake of fiction, let's forget it, hm? Btw,the little comments like 'A little fact' or whatever? Those are inspired from The Book Thief. It's a great book. I love constructive crit, and any feedback, so I wanna hear your opinion! Lemme know what you think! I'd love it! I'll get the chapters up as fast as I can, but I'm kinda busy, so please be patient. Revieeeewww! Pweeeaaasssee?**

**Oh, and this takes place in HBP.**

**--Paris:]**


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